Moder
by LilyIsMilesAway
Summary: Enjolras has to fight against Ikea furniture. Prompt Fill/Modern AU.


**It's Inge's (ThinksInWords, go read her awesome _Marble Man _!) fault. She's the one who prompted me : Enjonine, DIY.**

**Thanks to Christine (Aurimaedre, who just started a very, very promising Sherlolly story.) for the beta'ing. **

**And yeah, the title is an Ikea joke, I'm sorry.**

* * *

"And then… P goes into… V and you screw… this."

Éponine is sitting in the armchair, next to the window, one hand rubbing her belly, the other holding the instructions. Enjolras is sitting on the floor, fighting what seems the fight of the century with two pieces of wood.

"This is the most complicated thing I've done in my life and I graduated first in my class in Law School."

"The perks of being posh… I'm sure your parents' mahogany furniture didn't come in kit."

He scoffs but she carries on.

"I'm an expert in Ikea furniture. I have a PhD in Ikea furniture. You should have let me help you."

"No, you stay there, I won't take any risks."

He had taken absolutely no risks indeed.

The furniture, like the armchair which for now the only one standing, is vintage and didn't need any work on it. It had been carried up to the fourth floor with the help of Bahorel, Marius and Combeferre.

He had allowed her to do the painting with Grantaire with the express condition that she didn't use the stepladder. Luckily, he had let her take care of everything else. He had… unusual tastes when it came to interior design and colour.

"That's my offspring you're carrying."

She pretends to be offended. "And not mine?"

He stands up and wipes the dust on his knees. "Of course, yours too!" he answers with an outraged look. "But someone had to be sure you aren't being reckless."

She tries to stand up too but falls right back in the armchair. She isn't as agile as she used to be. Maybe he's right.

"Are you… Are you insinuating that I wouldn't be able to take care of my child? That… That I would be as careless as my parents?!"

She has collapsed in the seat now, trying to fight her tears. What if he's right? It had tortured her since the beginning when she found out she was pregnant. Even the way she got there was reckless.

Before that moment he had just been that crazy guy who hung out with the guys except he would never stay for drinks after their meetings. Except for that time. Something had happened. Some politician (don't ask his name, she had stopped caring about politics the day she had realised nobody would care about her brothers) had died.

They had completely ignored each other after that night, and she would have taken care of the problem alone, if she hadn't cracked and yelled at him out of exhaustion and tension.

And unexpectedly, he had remembered her name. It might seem stupid, especially in this situation, but he didn't look like the kind of guy who would recall the name of the girl he shagged a few weeks prior, or even the night before. It was stupid but it had marked her.

And now they are living together. Barely six months after. Who does that if not irresponsible people?…

He's now kneeling in front of her. "No, no, that's not what I said. Or maybe it was, but it wasn't what I meant."

Where is the eloquent lawyer? Nowhere to be seen.

"I know you'll be an extraordinary mother. And do you know why? Because in your own way, you're already a mother to us all."

She scoffs.

"Yes, you are. You're the one reassuring Joly when he's feeling not well, you patch up Bossuet. And Bahorel. You make sure Courfeyrac he's not doing something stupid. You take care of Grantaire when he's in a bad mood. I suspect you're the one who set him up with Prouvaire. You remind Combeferre to sleep and eat when he's busy studying or experimenting. You even take care of me, reasoning with me when I'm about to do something stupid. Even more than my mother ever did. But I shouldn't mention that, it would be weird considering our bedroom activities. I'm just trying to take care of you like you take care of us all."

She is now crying for real, and jumps in his arms as quickly as her condition allows her.

And Enjolras whispers in her ear. "Maybe we should ask Feuilly for that crib. After all, it's his job."

"That would be a great idea," she sniffles.

"That would mean we'll have to ask him to be the godfather to thank him."

"Hum…. Courf' will be extremely disappointed."

Enjolras doesn't answer, just sits back on the floor and gives her a glare, that clearly means that Courfeyrac would never to be let alone with their kid. Ever.


End file.
